I am 15 Going on 30
by Defender of the Dogma
Summary: Children as superheroes have been popular since Robin's first appearance in 1940. But what's really happening? Behind the masks, behind the smiles... a teenage girl, a superhero says what she really thinks about her job. She'll just never say it to anyone in person. Rated for mature themes (but NOT sexual ones). Sequel is posted under 'My Child My Soldier:"


**Disclaimer: I own what rocks dream about. Also, the characters referenced are real (and thereby not mine) but the problems they have are all of my own invention. (Also apparently this is also the title of some movie, but I didn't know that.)**

 **Also, this isn't really an X-Men fanfiction, but I didn't know how else to categorize it, so yeah. Power Pack has worked with the X-Men before, but you don't need to know anything about either group to read this story.**

My name is Lightspeed, and I am fifteen years old. My siblings and I are superheroes. Zero G is the oldest. He's seventeen. Mass Master is twelve and Energizer is ten. We've had our powers for five years. An alien gave them to us to save the world.

Since then, we've joined the ranks of the teenage and preteen super children, saving the world to the accompaniment of stylish costumes and trendy witticisms. Relatable and shining bright. Everything any child could wish to be. Obviously.

In those five years, I've come to a conclusion about having kids and teens as superheroes. It's dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb, and it makes me want to _scream._

Energizer is 10, and the other girls her age are gushing over stuffed animals and the latest animated movie, and she _doesn't get it_. Because why watch TV when you've fought the alien taking over the world? What's the point of a stuffed toy when it could never protect you from a villain? Energizer's name is Katie, and she used to love princesses and stuffed unicorns. She doesn't play with kids anymore. She learns because she needs to, then she comes home, sneaks away, and fights crime.

Our parents don't know what we do.

It's _stupid_ how _children_ are recruited nowadays. It's not just those who've completed exhaustive training, anymore. Some random middle schooler gets bit by a radioactive bug? He can throw on a suit and fight psychopaths. Training? He can train on the job. The grownups will smile, pat him on the back, and throw a new suit at him, too.

And it doesn't stop, either. You become a superhero and you save people, and suddenly there isn't anything more important in the world. We're not ready for this! One dumb mistake, one first patrol as a kid, and you're hooked. What with all the cameras everywhere, people know there's a new superhero around. Suddenly you _absolutely need to go out again_ and you _absolutely have to fight more crime_ and there's no stopping because _with great power comes great responsibility_ but you aren't ready yet!

I'm a fifteen year old girl who flies around in a skintight suit with people taking pictures of me. You know what happens then? Anorexia. But no one _thinks_ of that. Of course not. We're fighting crime, we've got bigger things to worry about than how we look. Well, it does affect me, okay! Did you think it was _coincidence_ that the girls keep getting thinner and thinner, and the boys keep looking stronger and stronger?

Mass Master's name is Jack. He was always insecure about what other people thought of him. Now everyone looks to him as a superhero, and he's supposed to be _so strong_ for everyone, and he doesn't know what to do. He spends hours in the weight room every day. None of us know what to say to stop him, because he does need to to be strong! You can't mess up out there. So he stays. For hours until he collapses from exhaustion sometimes. But I see him looking in the mirror. And I know he thinks he isn't enough.

But how can I say otherwise when he isn't enough? When you always need to improve? Other people, civilians, count on us! He does need to be better! There's a hole in my logic somewhere, I think.

Maybe if I were older I could see it. Maybe if I hadn't been doing this since I was eleven, if heroing hadn't seeped into every corner of my thinking. Maybe I'd know then. But… if being stronger helps people… then Jack should be stronger. I think. I wish there was someone I could ask.

There isn't.

My parents don't know. I've lied to them for years. At first I didn't like it. Now I can lie to anyone. It's better that way. Since it helps people. So.

I can't talk to the grownup heroes either. There seems to be an unspoken rule, you know? It says that you don't tell the adults about your _real_ problems. They might make you take a break from heroing, or even _retire._ Besides. The kind of stuff we see? Us kids? My siblings and I, (we call ourselves Power Pack), hadn't been fighting crime for a year before we saw our first massacre. Stuff like that… the grownups...

They wouldn't let us out there if they didn't think we could handle seeing stuff like that. And really only grownups are supposed to see those things, so I guess we have equal responsibility to grownups. Because we have equal power. (There's something wrong with that too, but I don't know what it is).

But it's more than that. It's the overwhelming expectation to be perfect. There's no room for imperfection when you're a superhero. And the grownups… they'll tell you that isn't true. They'll tell you everyone learns at their own rate and _that's okay_ but _actions speak louder than words_ and they are _lying_. And that's okay. Lying is convenient sometimes. Even when everyone already knows the truth.

Because there _isn't_ room too fail. Because when you slip up _people die_ , and that is _unacceptable._ And the failing… it's messing me up, too. Us up. You don't know what it's like, too have to try to shoo mom and dad away after Katie has a nightmare and tell them everything's okay because they can't know that she dreams of blood and death and screaming and the people she didn't save. 'It's okay mom, I'm taking care of it. She's going to be alright.'

 _Alright? ALRIGHT?_ There was a time, once, when everything was alright. When there were no wars or carnage or cameras and we could be _kids_ and Katie could play princess and Jack didn't pass out from exhaustion and Alex didn't spend hours redrawing battle plans and I could pass a mirror without feeling revolted. Things will never be _alright_ again.

Zero G… Zero G is Alex. My older brother. Our leader. He's never forgotten a single person we didn't save. He's never forgiven himself, and he's never forgotten. He hasn't done anything _normal_ for someone his age in years. He's considered a genius. Apparently that means he can learn everything and make every decision correctly. Even the ones that are impossible to make. Even when there _isn't_ a way to save everyone. When he isn't studying he's training, at least when he can get away with it. Alex is smart, you see. He knows how to hide from the grownups.

It's an important part of this job, at this age. The ability to smile. I don't know if the grownups really understand everything they're doing to us. So we have to pretend, for them, to be alright. Normal kids, we just happen to be fighting crime. Of course, most everyone starts out that way.

And you have to beware the public, too, of course. If a child hero shows weakness the media tears him apart faster than a tiger in a room of rabbits. It's nothing but headlines and people doubting their heroes and " _Are superheroes illegally endangering minors?"_ And it's all because they don't _understand_.

They don't understand what every child hero _has to know_. That we _aren't important_. That what happens to us: living, suffering, dying, (I used to wonder what PTSD was, but I know now) the dreams and horrors we experience _every day_ … it _doesn't matter_ because we're _saving people_.

We're really just weapons, you know. Convenient. We can get places grownups can't, we're free of some of the grownups restrictions, we have a wonderful connection to the public. We get the job done. And when we grow up, and we're the grownups, we'll start the cycle again (though start is the wrong word because it never stops) and we'll bring in the children and train them for war because there are bigger things than us. It's stupid. I think.

I used to be more sure. Once. Before.

I'm still sure! This is a perversion, a travesty! We didn't know what we were getting into! Don't you understand? You see them, flying around in their capes and you think they have everything perfect and then one day some random alien says "you need to save the world" and then you're _doing it_ and then you aren't _stopping_! You _can't_ stop! Because people need you! Because what right do you have to do _anything else_ with your life when you could have the all important job of _saving people_.

I've seen kids try to retire. To live a normal life, but they always come back! Always! They come back because you can't see the woman being mugged without helping, the screaming child without interfering, and if you do anything with your life but _be a hero_ and _make a difference_ that's nothing but selfish Selfish SELFISH.

I know this is killing me. It's killing Katie and Jack and it's killed Alex, he's dead dead dead and he'll never really be a _person_ again, not really but it doesn't _matter_ because _we don't matter,_ and we _gave that up_ the very _second_ we put on a uniform.

It's the Children's Crusade all over again, but bigger and more colorful and better. No, it's wrong. Not better. It's wrong. Evil. It works. It does. It's wrong, but it works. If it works it can't be wrong. People live because of it. I think. It makes sense. It makes sense and it works. It… makes sense.

(Katie screaming).

(Jack unconscious).

(Alex alone).

(Me anemic).

(It doesn't matter).

With great power comes great responsibility. Someone's attacking Earth again, right now. It's another job that we can do best. People would die if we couldn't do our job. (It makes sense). It's a good thing we're here, all of us. I believe it's for the best.


End file.
